Frostbitten
by Thunderxtw
Summary: Throughout her life, she has experienced scorn and tragedy at every turn. Landing a gig as a nightclub singer, she seeks to convey her struggle while reminiscing about the past. An Anna Williams oneshot.


**Author's notes:** This fic has been on my mind since the middle of last year. It has suffered countless changes and delays but I've succeeded in finishing it. It kind of relates to a friend of mine who has been going through some difficult times. I apologize for the length of the fic if it seems too long to some for a one-shot. Hope you enjoy.

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**Frostbitten**

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All eyes were on her; it was obvious from the silence permeating the nightclub, aside from the coughs and the faint sound of throat clearing. Every night of this magnitude seemed the same, but it was never repetitive to her. She had the chance to open up and let people hear her the way she wanted them to.

This nightclub had a sophisticated atmosphere to it with the rock gardens, candles, and sculptured fountains standing off in the background. A dress code was in tact, a strict one at that, where formal attire was the only thing permissible. She preferred it that way, believing jeans, tennis shoes, and other garments of casual wear had no place in this high-profile establishment.

The air smelt of tequila-scented cigars, wine, and burning wax from the candles upfront. Anna inhaled deep, preparing herself as she received the cue for the show to start. The stage and strobe lights warded off the darkness within a single gleam. Then, in that moment, the spotlight encircled her body.

A step below the stage, she could make out the lithe image of her shadow as she clutched the microphone between her fingers. The audience sat motionless in their seats, stone-faced.

Thus began the jazzy mixture of the keystrokes of a keyboard, the blowing of a saxophone, and the string of an archtop guitar.

Her off-the-shoulder dress was a fiery red, sparkling with diamond studs in the stage light. Every night she wore red, for it was her trademark, her symbol, her favorite color out of the rest.

Since the start of the music, she knew she had the audience's attention. Wherever she sauntered, their eyes followed. Whenever she spoke, their heads lifted. Each song flowed into the next as her body felt the steady vibrations of the instruments around her. She had all the routines memorized to perfection, from hitting high notes to spreading her arms out and closing her eyes. Sometimes, she'd swing her hips and tap her foot against the floor to bring herself further into the song. Then, when she found it appropriate, she'd look around, seeing feet tapping and heads bobbing along with her.

Within a few of those faces in the audience, she had seen tears, tears of regret, tears of doubt, tears of a desire for self-improvement. Whatever flawed lives these people had, she knew they somehow related to what she sung about.

Her songs were about feeling heartbroken and the vulnerability it brought forth at the fall out of a relationship; they were about losing loved ones through tragedies and the agony of living without them. They were about her real-life stories and personal experiences with men, with family, and with society itself.

Sometimes her eyes wept from the words she sung. With some run-of-the-mill performances used by other club singers, it was part of the act; but hers, the words, the expressions, the emotions--they were real. She could sing from her heart about anything and not worry about sounding fake and forced.

Her head swayed in rhythm with the music, envisioning everything she had endured, the events that inspired these songs.

She was sick of the sexual harassment from men, the belittlement from women; sick of the hateful glares in the park, the turned up noses on the streets, and the unkind whispers uttered about her in the department store. Yet, most of all, she was sick of people in general, sick of their one-dimensional views and twisted logic. It was if she didn't fit in, as if everything about her was wrong and had to change in order to gain acceptance.

Anna was sure there were people out there like her; people misjudged, alone, keeping their personal dilemmas trapped inside like caged animals.

She took pride in both her physical and facial appeal whenever she stood before a full-sized mirror; her full lips beamed as she would marvel over the muscle definition in her thighs and the bright hue of her floral cheongsam. She would taste the bitter-flavored lipstick on her mouth, feel the soft touch of an eyeliner pencil on her skin. Out into the night she would go, smirking, swaggering, with stiletto heels clicking like a runway model as she reveled in her confidence.

However, there was always some asshole who saw her appeal as something else, something shameful, contemptible.

A slut.

Whenever Anna heard the word, her blood seethed and her muscles tensed, preferring it unspoken, forgotten like untold secrets and buried pasts.

She had tried, in effort, to ignore it like everything else; but the repeated use of that phrase, the unwarranted insults, and the unwelcome groping were hard to push from her mind. She turned to drinking as a way out, intoxicating herself, her mind woozy yet still conflicted. No amount of alcohol managed to wash away her troubles, stop her from crying, or stop her from hurting. Sometimes, suicide didn't seem like a bad idea, and sometimes, she thought maybe she was better off dead; no matter how it would happen, nobody would care.

At times, Anna didn't want to show weakness to these who heckled her. Nevertheless, she found herself giving into the anger she had suppressed, exploding on anyone stupid enough to provoke her.

Whenever a lone degenerate dared to slap her rear on passing by, he wouldn't walk away unscathed; hell, he might not walk at all. Whether it was through pummeling their skulls or squeezing their genitalia until they begged for relinquishment, it mattered none to her as long as they understood not to invade her personal space. Woman offenders, who were more verbal than physical with her, had their arms twisted and would have suffered worse, but they often backed off after the first assault. It was only a matter of time before they pushed her too far and she'd start breaking bones and putting them in hospitals.

Still, in the aftermath, with downcast eyes, Anna's breath would shorten and her heart would ache at the fact she had just hurt someone. During her outbursts, she thought violence would bring her relief, but when it was all over, it brought nothing but pain. It didn't matter whether they deserved the bruises or not; guilt would still gnaw at her like an abrasion on her skin.

Anna wanted nothing more than to abolish the cruel nature she believed was beyond her control; she felt it all came to a head with the string of tragedies and misfortunes in her life and society's abuse just egged it on more.

She was a fighter at heart, whether she liked it or not; it was in her blood, and for what lied ahead in the foreseeable future, she had to know how to defend herself. Yet, despite inheriting these detrimental talents from her family, all she desired was one thing: an ordinary life opposed to what her father wanted for her. Anna didn't want to kill or cause pain, didn't see the reason for it. Sometimes, it was handy knowing hand-to-hand combat, and others she was afraid there might come a day where she'd take it too far. Richard wanted her to turn into that animal, a savage beast that killed without remorse.

Anna recalled, from the days of her childhood, the vocal cords in her father's neck protruding as he shouted at her refusal to shoot an innocent deer. He always raised his voice, always cursed and berated her as if he couldn't talk to her any other way; just like everybody else would do years later.

Her objections to bring death to any living being had driven a wedge between them so strong, he had declined to speak to or address her by name. Most days, there was nothing but an uncomfortable silence brewing at the kitchen table between Richard and her. He'd sit there scowling, jaw twitching, still sore about the dispute. It angered him that she had a mind of her own, that he couldn't make her the way he wanted. He'd thrown away all his love for her like she no longer belonged to him, acting as if he never knew her at all. And she resented him for it, unable to fathom how a man could disown his child as if it was nothing.

Regardless, Anna had felt there were other ways to get by, ways where she didn't have to kill or inflict pain.

Her mother, when she wasn't practicing aikido, used to sing in the garden back in Dublin. She'd sing to the flowers, to herself, and to Anna, if she bothered to stick around and listen. The lyrics were happy, catchy, sometimes sad, depending on her mood. She explained to Anna how much singing soothed both mind and body when nothing else did. It sounded silly and far-fetched; yet, awakening nineteen years later into a crueler, lonelier life, made Anna consider it when she had no other alternative.

Singing brought her peace and understanding with herself, and was a better way of relieving the tension she had held in from a child to a full-fledged adult. Gone were the days of attacking perverts and persistent pimps, the days of scaring off women giving her dirty looks and hateful gestures. Each day she'd come up with something to sing, whether it was something she could relate to or something just off the top of her head. Then she decided to make the best of her newfound talent, presenting it to others in a way where they might understand her too.

A man overheard her sing in a café one day and complimented on her voice. He suggested she should do something with it and offered her a deal to sing in nightclubs and receive good pay. Anna had frowned in skepticism, but then accepted after feeling a tug in her gut. Her mother always urged her to try out new things, so she opted to give this a shot.

The gig took her far; in less than a few weeks, she dined in fancy restaurants, slept in A-quality hotel suites, and toured the state in limousines instead of in cramped buses and subway trains. The schedule was two performances per day, but the number and hour of shows worked increased with time.

She thought she had found contentment with this lifestyle, but the memory of those special in her life creeping into every dream and thought took away any sense of joy; they were too difficult to let go of or forget, and all she wanted was to share this life with them.

Her lover, Lee Chaolan, was gone, assassinated by a business rival who later died of old age. Like her parents, she had brought a bouquet of roses to his grave each visit, replacing the wilted ones as she tried to hold back sobs. Lee and her were so much alike, having met each other through the Zaibatsu; both shared a mutual hatred for their siblings, had a taste in fine art, and felt unappreciated by the world. She had gone through various relationships where men saw her as nothing but a toy to lie to and fiddle around with. Lee, despite the playboy impression he built on himself, was different, however. Anna saw him as the only person who understood her, the only person who didn't care how she looked or acted. Their love was strong enough to put aside how others felt about them.

She remembered lying in Lee's master bedroom, sheets drawn to her neck, hand grazing his chest as she leaned against it and smelt the wine on his breath. The nights she spent with him were some of the best; it was a time of moonlit promenades, amorous glances, and passionate kisses in the dark quarters of his home. She used to ramble around outside his private beach house in a swimsuit, sipping on margaritas, as he watched her from his lounge chair with a big grin. Now, all she could do, when not performing, was shudder at having to live life without him everyday.

She spent nineteen years in cryosleep stasis without Lee, and when she had awoken, she heard the news of his demise. Apart of her had felt at fault for the unintentional abandoning of the one she loved. It started when the Mishima Zaibatsu had placed Nina under arrest and ordered officials to put her in the new cryosleep experiment. Anna hadn't liked the idea of aging while her sister would retain her youth, demanding Kazuya put her in the experiment as well. She knew she wasn't thinking straight that day and only acting on impulse, for she hadn't thought about what Lee would think of her decision. He had probably moved on and found someone else, but she would never know and maybe it was best she didn't.

Leukemia had claimed her mother's life, leaving her a withered corpse prone on a hospital gurney. Anna couldn't see her smiling face in the garden anymore, or hear the sound of her gentle voice. She couldn't smell her rosy scent or have long talks with her like before. Everyday she thought of her mother, trying to convince herself she wasn't dead, pretending she'd come back to her garden again. But she knew she wouldn't, and all she could do was tend to her mother's flowers as she had once done. All she had left Anna was a prayer and a last request: to keep herself together and to lookout for her sister. However, Anna's ribs tightened, feeling she couldn't fulfill both.

Nina's presence was nothing but an imaginary faint image fading away in the city backdrop from day-to-day. Strange as it sounded, Anna missed her sister's cocky retorts, her cold blue eyes, the gold sheen of her hair, and her monotone way of speaking. The grudge Nina and her held against each other was strong, spawned from Richard showering Nina with affection, and Anna with none. It started out as harmless pranks when they were children, then evolved into the use of firearms and heavy artillery, as they grew older. The lengthy battles always left trails of smoke and wreckage behind in their wake; through it all, their bodies bled and their clothes would tear with exhausted limbs, flushed faces, and creased brows. They'd run off soon as they heard the wail of police sirens, vowing to finish each other off the next time they met.

Nowadays, their memorable quarrel didn't matter to Anna anymore. She was tired of having the same old fights, opening the same wounds, and spilling the same blood in a no-win war. In reality, she just wanted peace with Nina, but it wouldn't happen. Her elder sister was too proud and unwilling to put aside their personal differences. Rather than plot how to kill Nina or pay her back for all the scuffles, the petty arguments, and the hurtful remarks, Anna wondered, sometimes even worried, where her elder sibling had gone. Affected with cryogenic-amnesia, she had disappeared without a trace. Wherever she was, Anna figured she was fine, probably better off without her in the way.

In mid-song, Anna's eyes opened as the reverie faded, her voice stopping at what she saw: a man in the audience had broken into a sprint, making a beeline for the stage. She descried the lustful glint in his eyes, his arms outstretched, his mouth foaming with saliva.

'Another hormone-enraged lunatic…' Anna thought, teeth barring. It was just another man who saw her as nothing more than a mere object of sex. She had taken an oath not to fight, but in a situation like this, she had no choice.

Facing forward, she maintained a straight posture, arms raised and legs bent for a defensive stance.

The crazed fan was within ten feet of her now, but before he could touch her, something breezed past her. Then it was apparent: Ganryu and Bruce Irvin, her bodyguards, had bolted in front of her and tackled the offender to the floor. Ganryu had the man pinned under his girth as Bruce seized his legs.

"Quick, get his arms!" Bruce shouted to his counterpart. Ganryu slid his arms underneath the man's armpits, lifting him. Together, they carried the fan's body to the exit as he kicked and screamed like a child unwilling to take his nap, heaving him into the trash-littered alley.

* * *

After the scene, Anna finished the show and the nightclub owner made an apology to the audience for the incident. Before she left, she signed some autographs and took some pictures before fetching her fur jacket from its hook. Bruce and Ganryu escorted her to her limousine, the cold breeze numbing her face and ears.

"That guy we tossed out somehow managed to get in without paying. He's been known to crash every club he goes to. Really sad individual." Bruce told her, shaking his head.

"Thank you, sweetie. I'll see you boys back at the hotel." Anna crouched and eased into the leather seat after the chauffer opened the door.

She was thankful to have people like Bruce and Ganryu; both, like herself, were once bodyguards working under Kazuya Mishima, heir to the Mishima Empire. Bruce was once an established kick boxer who had lost his family as a child. Ganryu was once a sumo champion, using illegal methods to maintain his spot until he learned the error of his ways.

Like most men, they were loud, tall, and never seemed to crack a smile at anything. When off duty, their days consisted of smoking, heavy drinking, and talking sports; but when they met her, they seemed like so much more. Of course they couldn't resist checking her out from head to toe, but they kept their hands to themselves and approached her without hostility or contempt. They accepted her into their group, letting her drink and snicker with them as if she was one of the boys. Moreover, as she came to know them more, they often showed a side that contrasted with their individual personalities; they held the door open for her, complimented on her clothes, and were always the people to go to when she needed a second opinion on something. Yet, most of all, they treated her like a woman and not the raunchy slut everybody else had seen her for.

After she had started doing acts for nightclubs, Anna tracked both men down and found them jobless when Heihachi reclaimed the Zaibatsu. The least she could do was offer them something in return.

Her musings aside, Anna watched the nightscape streak by, longing for some well-deserved sleep after a tiring night.

* * *

She exited the shower, a thin towel pressed against her face, recovering from the faint-induced haze.

Cold beads of water still dripped from her hair, her feet leaving a wet trail of footprints in the carpet. Anna wandered over to the window of the balcony overlooking the city, in nothing but a bathrobe. The building was twenty-stories up and made everything below look like a civilization of bustling ants. Beyond the skyscrapers, there was no moon, but plenty of stars to watch. Her and Lee used to do just that: watch stars every night and see how many they could count.

Anna broke away from her pondering, looking over her shoulder at the noise interrupting her stargaze.

Her coffee bubbled and boiled within the carafe. She poured a light amount into a small mug, inhaling the fresh aroma. The steam rose and warmed her face as she took sips while grabbing the newspaper on the nightstand. There was a small column in the lower-left corner covering yesterday's nightclub incident. Her gaze froze on the last few paragraphs taking shots at her, painting her as a pretty face using her sexuality to gain attention. Anna's throat almost choked on the coffee, forcing her to put the mug down and stare at the paper again. She thought she had distanced herself from that negative impression, but the media had a knack for spinning things the wrong way just to make news.

Then one painful realization surfaced as she saw the nightclub ads in the paper: people who came to watch her perform only cared about her looks and paid little mind to her singing. Giving it much thought, it was evident in how they raved about her face and body, but nothing else. Even the fliers advertising her across town had exaggerated her bust size to appeal to a certain demographic. The singing had taken a backseat to the real thing that drew people in: eye candy with no substance.

Anna put her head in her hands, feeling betrayed, lied to. She told the producer who had given her this job what she wanted out of it and he acted as if he understood. However, it seemed his vision and hers were not the same. She was just a tool to him and every other person.

She had wanted people to see her as more than just a beauty, as a human being, not as this self-degrading whore. A small number might have, but for the rest, they didn't care about her words or the pain she had tried to capture and express. They didn't care about the side of her she wanted them to see, know, and relate to; they didn't care at all.

Eyebrows furrowed, her hands trembled before tearing the newspaper in half. She pushed the lit lamp beside her off the table. With a loud thud, the outer shell of the light bulb inside broke into tiny shards of glass on the floor. She couldn't help it; someone or something always had to upset her, make her violent, make her scream loud enough so everyone would hear.

To add to her discomfort, someone had knocked at the door and startled her. Her eyes closed as she pressed two fingers into her temple in frustration. Anna didn't want to answer it, but the impatient knocking suggested whoever was behind it wasn't going to go away as she hoped.

She huffed and jerked the door open, seeing Bruce leaning in the doorway. "Came up here to check on you. You okay?" He peered over her shoulder, seeming to observe the small mess as he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Mind if I come in?"

Anna sighed and waved him inside, stepping over the broken glass, hoping their conversation was a quick one. When she turned to face him again, she noticed how his eyes took a quick glance at what remained of the lamp.

"You need to let go, Anna. Forget all the things that have happened over the years and focus on the here and now."

She blinked and frowned. "How did you know I was-"

"It's evident in the pictures and letters in your room. It's in your songs. I've seen you cry sometimes when you thought nobody was looking. You can't hide it."

Anna's eyes averted from him, biting her lip. "What do you care?"

"I'm not saying you should forget the people that meant something to you. It's natural to mourn over the loss. But you shouldn't let it destroy you."

She licked her lips and began twiddling her thumbs. "I'm not letting anything destroy me."

"Oh drop the act." Bruce's voice held a trace of annoyance behind it. "You are. You can't even look me in the eye right now."

"Bruce, just leave me the hell alone… please." Anna sneered, rubbing her hands as if she were applying lotion to them.

"No I will not." The bass in his tone rose, enough to verify he wasn't going to drop the discussion. "Listen, listen…" he gripped her arms as she tried to pull away, "you still got a lot of years ahead of you before you have to start moping about old memories like me. I think, even in death, those close to you would want you to be happy and move on, don't you think?"

Anna ceased pulling away, exhaling.

"I've seen other people do it." He continued. "They go their whole lives mourning over stuff that happened ages ago. I don't want that happening to you. People die. Shit happens. Life goes on."

Anna's head bowed before she took a step closer, burying her face into his chest. She sniffled, eyes brimming with tears, arms hugging his waist. "It's hard, Bruce. It really is. I wish I wasn't so sensitive. Maybe I should have been more like… Nina." It disgusted her to say that, but it seemed true, felt true.

"To hell with that." Bruce gave her back a couple comforting pats as he returned the embrace. "Your sensitivity is what makes you unique. Think of it as a gift, not as a curse." He paused for a moment. "Damn, I really gotta stop reading those fortune cookies."

Anna also paused, smiled, then started giggling as she lifted her head up.

Bruce smiled as if that was what he had wanted from her all along. "You know, you're cute when you smile. You always were. I hope you realize that. Maybe if I wasn't so old, I'd take a chance and flirt with ya." He laughed, and she did too.

"Tell me, Bruce." Anna wiped away a stray tear before it reached her cheek. "Do you know what it is like to be misjudged, to be seen as something less than what you are?"

He rubbed his forehead before sliding his hand over his mohawk. "I read the paper earlier. I know where you're getting at. There are people that care about you for who you are, not for what you are or how you look."

"But who do I have, Bruce?"

"Us." He pointed to himself and to the door, a reference to Ganryu.

She didn't think one simple word could explain everything.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "We like you for being you. We don't care what others think. Forget 'em. You gave us a job when our lives were in the gutter. You were the only female we actually liked. We have the honor of saying we know the real woman that you are, the woman nobody else sees. What's important is that you know this."

Anna's eyes widened with her smile. "That's sweet. I'd cry some more, but I think I'd be waterlogged." She nodded to herself. "Sorry for being a real bitch. I get that way, sometimes."

"I noticed. But hey, I've dealt with worse. I doubt a woman's bitchiness could be anymore harmful." Bruce bent himself over, collected the broken glass and torn remnants of the newspaper, and disposed of them.

Anna assisted him in putting the lamp back on the table. "When my contract runs out, I'm done with these people. I don't know where I'll go from here, but anything seems better than this."

"So that's it? You're calling it quits once it's over?"

"Wouldn't you? Or, are you just gonna do the typical thing and call me stupid for turning down money and fame?" She rolled her eyes with one hand at her hip.

Bruce shrugged. "It's your choice. Whatever decision you make, I'll, eh, we'll support you. I guess we'll be calling it quits too, when the time comes." He put his hands behind his head and exhaled. "Heh. Do you really think you're gonna miss all this fame and fortune?"

"Not really. I didn't feel all that famous in the beginning, anyway." She tried to smile. "Sorry to offer you guys a job and have you quit it too, sweetie. At least we can be poor together."

"Won't exactly be poor for long."

Anna's head tilted to the side, one eyebrow arched. "How so?"

Bruce faced the mirror, observing the shave of his beard as he rubbed it. "Ganryu's gonna find something for us in Japan. We like to think ahead, in case things don't work out like they did in the Zaibatsu."

"Oh…" Anna lowered her head, feeling left out. "You don't mind if I join you guys, do you? I mean, do you think it's all right if he could find something for me there too?"

"Of course." Bruce smiled. "You don't think we'd just leave you behind like that, do you?"

Anna shook her head and grinned. "I suppose not."

"There's a bunch of things we can do in Japan." Bruce looked down, musing aloud. "I hear it's nice there. Good people. Good food…"

"Nice women to look at." She added with a chortle.

"Huh?" He scratched the side of his face.

"Just thinking how you men would normally think."

"So, what do you say we go out and try to get our minds off this? Maybe play some pool and grab a drink?" He mimed shooting pool and drinking from an imaginary bottle.

"Make a little mischief? Sounds good to me." Anna gave herself an unappreciative once-over. "Just let me slip into something more… presentable."

"I kinda like you this way. Why not go as you are?" He laughed.

Anna delivered a playful punch to Bruce's arm before embracing him again, sniffing the leather of his jacket, chuckling. She would keep the good times with her mother, with Lee, with anyone special in particular forever in her thoughts and heart. All the pain, all the misery, it had all subsided, like healed wounds at the realization of the friends she had, the family she had. She would slip into her best dress, apply the makeup to her skin, and step into the outside world again, chest up and rear end stuck out.

She still turned heads, attracted those enmity-laced glares, and could sense the unkind whispers starting again. Her smirk widened, for nothing they said affected her anymore. They couldn't because she knew the truth, and if they didn't know it yet, they probably never would. Ignorance would continue to linger in this world, but she accepted it as she did everything else.

Walking arm-and-arm with the two men at her sides, Anna breathed in the crisp night air, no longer alone, no longer depressed.


End file.
